


All I Can See

by alekszova



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Shot, the faintest trace of fluff you'll ever see
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-14 01:30:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16030205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alekszova/pseuds/alekszova
Summary: Gav800 Week Day 3: SacrificeThe RK900′s purpose has been rerouted to kill all deviants responsible for the revolution.Starting with Connor.





	All I Can See

**Author's Note:**

> "It will sound strange, but I swear I can see her now. In my head, she is all i can see. Every part of her a reminder of everything I used to be."  
> Obsidio - Amie Kaufman & Jay Kristoff

**S** ee

_experience or witness an event or situation._

**Now,**

It is easy to track them down, to follow them from the station to somewhere they are alone together. That was never the hard part, though. They are constantly by themselves. They are constantly within his reach. He has no qualms about killing a human to accomplish his mission. He has no qualms about killing at all. He has no qualms—end of.

He could simply pull the gun from his side, aim, fire. _Easy._

But he was told he shouldn’t kill a human. He can, if necessary, but to avoid it otherwise. They want the RK800 destroyed, not something else.

_Pull. Aim. Fire_.

**Easy.**

But the death of that human— _Detective Reed—_ is not necessary. He can circumvent it, if he waits a little longer. He does not grow tired of waiting. He does not grow annoyed. He can sit and wait until the RK800 is on his own. He is capable of waiting an eternity. He will if he has to, he won’t if CyberLife decides it isn’t worth it.

 

_Before,_

The first time Connor sees Detective Gavin Reed after he deviates is strange. He hadn’t noticed him before beyond an analytical analysis made before. Cat hairs on his shirt, tired eyes, a cup of coffee in his hand, a scar on his nose that could be caused by a number of things but at the top of the list, the most likely: an accident as a child, falling from a great height.

After, it’s different. After, he sees everything as if for the first time. Connor still notices the fur on his shirt, he still notices that there is yet another cup off coffee in his hand, that he’s tired, that he is annoyed, angry. But there is a moment, when he sees him, that he stumbles in his path, tripping over himself like a girl in a movie seeing her crush for the first time.

Which, he is sure, Detective Gavin Reed is _not_ someone he is crushing on.

But the sound makes him look up, a small laugh, a small smile, “Jesus fucking Christ, can’t even walk?”

“I’m fine,” he says, but it wasn’t the question he was asked. “I—”

“Deviancy ruin you that badly? You can’t even fucking balance yourself now?”

Maybe. Probably.

“I—”

“What the fuck are you staring at?”

He doesn’t know any other answer but the simplest one.

The truth.

“You.”

Gavin’s face shifts, the smile gone, his head tilting to the side. Connor thinks there is a small blush creeping up his cheeks as he looks away from him, back to his work, “Well knock it off, alright?”

“I’ll try.”

 

Now,

They walk home together, their hands joined between them, Connor tugging him along as his focus grows too great on replying to a text on his phone. It’s plucked from his hands after a few moments, tucked into Connor’s pocket.

It devolves into a game of him trying to get it back, of pushing Connor against the wall of a building, distracting him with kisses against his jaw, the corner of his mouth, never on his lips even though Connor tries his best to catch them.

“You’re cheating,” Connor whispers. “You can’t do that.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

The phone is retrieved, slid back into his own pocket again. Connor reaches forward, sliding his hand around the back of Gavin’s neck, forcing their lips to meet. He’s good at this—and Gavin loves him for it. He loves that Connor knows the exact place to put his hands that makes him turn into putty in his grasp, he loves that Connor knows exactly when to stop kissing, when to let him have a moment to breathe in a little bit of air because it is so difficult to breathe when Connor is kissing him. His mind wanders from necessity, it lands only on _him_.

It takes two people to be good at kissing, but he’s sure that the majority of the good parts rest on the shoulders of Connor.

Maybe he should be concerned about that. How he’s learned all these little things, but he doesn’t really care. Connor has only ever kissed him. Gavin will likely die before Connor kisses anyone else. He’s okay with that. It’s selfish—but it’s the truth.

They part, and he takes a moment, this close to Connor’s face, just to look over his features again. A process of memorization, so that when he closes his eyes, when he dreams, Connor will be there with him.

“What?”

Gavin leans forward, leaves a quick kiss on his lips, pulls away far enough to grasp his hand tightly. They need to get home. He’s not going to spend all night kissing Connor in the middle of the street.

“I’m just amazed,” he says, squeezing Connor’s fingers. “That I have you. That we’re together. I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”

He looks over to Connor, watches the small smile on his face appear and disappear as he looks behind them.

“Something wrong?”

“No,” Connor replies, shaking his head. “No, I thought I saw something, that’s all.”

**A** sh

_the remains of something destroyed._

_Now,_

Elevators are a dangerous place to be. Gavin doesn’t live on the top floor of the apartment complex, but he lives high enough up that there’s enough time for them to pass it with kissing.

Connor likes kissing him.

No, that’s wrong.

Connor _loves_ kissing him. He doesn’t grow tired of it. He will never grow tired of the way his mouth tastes or the sound Gavin makes if Connor slips his hand around to his lower back and pulls him forward. He will never grow tired of the way Gavin’s hand feels when it’s pressed against the back of his neck, pulling him down., down, down.

The doors slide open, the bell chimes. Connor breaks the kiss, moving away from his side towards the apartment. Gavin’s hand slips around his waist, presses him against the wall quickly like before, makes their lips meet again for a brief moment.

“We can’t stay out here,” Connor says. Gavin’s kiss moves to his jaw, against his neck.

“Why not?” he says, his lips moving against his skin.

“I think we ruin the precinct enough,” he replies. “We don’t need to scar your neighbors because you’re too eager to wait.”

“Public sex not your kink, then? You have so many it’s hard to keep track.”

His face flushes and Gavin smiles, probably feeling the slight warmth of it from his closeness.

“Shut up,” Connor says, but his voice is barely above a whisper. “Just open the door, will you?”

 

Before,

There is something absolutely, terrifyingly, _wrong_ with him.

Ever since Connor came back, after he deviated, it feels like he is incapable of being mean to him. He still is, of course, but it takes effort. Like he has to force himself to find something rude to say. There’s a new softness to Connor’s face that he hadn’t noticed before. Gavin sees him smile and he _knows_ it’s genuine this time.

He can feel Connor chipping away at his insides. Every time they work together and Connor asks for his opinion on something (even if, immediately after, he disproves it with the evidence available). Every time Connor leans against the counter and says hello as he makes a coffee for Hank.

Especially when Connor makes him one. Especially when he asks about his cat.

( _A Maine Coon, right?)_

He doesn’t like it. He preferred it when he could look at Connor and think of nothing else but _fucking android_ and move on.

Connor slides into the chair across from him, pushing the cup off coffee gently over the messy surface, “You looked tired, Detective Reed. Have you been sleeping alright?”

_No._

“The fuck do you care?”

He smiles, tilts his head to the side. It’s the first time Gavin sees a trace of mischief in his eyes. He might be imagining it, but it spirals out of control in his head. Is he doing all of this as a joke? For fun? To see Gavin squirm?

“I’m trying to be nice and considerate,” Connor replies, watching Gavin take a sip of the coffee. “Isn’t that what humans do when they flirt?”

The coffee burns his throat as he sets it down, a cough rattling in his chest. He smacks his ribs with his hand, trying to get it to stop. He inhales a shaky breath as it settles down, his hand wiping at the edge of his mouth.

“This is flirting?” he asks, his voice broken and hoarse. “You’re flirting with me?”

“Do you want me to be?”

“That’s not what I asked, Connor.”

“I’d like to be your friend,” he says, leaning forward. “I think you’re a much different person than what you like to pretend to be, Detective Reed.”

“And you want to get to know that person?”

“Yes.”

“You sure?” Gavin says, lowering his voice like he’s whispering a secret to him. “He’s kind of a prick.”

“Can I decide that for myself?”

His first thought is _no, fucking no, no way in hell._

His second thought it:

Connor never actually said if he was flirting or not.

And now he is zeroing in on the moles, the texture of his skin, the brown of his eyes.

And he _really_ hopes Connor was flirting with him.

 

**Now,**

The RK800 is certainly something. Smart, well made, logical. But stupid.

He thought at first it would be difficult to follow them. The RK800 is an android, specialized in crime scenes. Surely, he would notice if he was being stalked? Surely, he would notice if someone was trailing them, especially after a long period of time? Not even just the hour it takes for them to walk from the precinct to Detective Reed’s apartment complex, but the week he has been following them.

He should’ve noticed his presence by now. He should have seen him.

And he almost had, too. He had looked back, had glanced right over where he blended in with the shadows of a building. He should have been seen.

_Stupid._

He truly is the better of the two of them. Smarter. Faster. Stronger. More resilient.

Better in every way imaginable.

They even tell him his features have been adjusted, his voice slightly altered, to be more attractive to humans. So much effort for such little gain. He is nothing like he was meant to be. He was meant to take the RK800’s place, and instead he is their little assassin sent out to destroy the androids they loathe the most.

After this, he will move onto the next one. Her information is already at his fingertips, already prepared in the back of his mind. WR400. Take her out first of the little Jericho leaders. The biggest fighter of them all.

But she is not important right now.

The RK800 is.

He smiles, he holds the hand of Detective Reed, he steps into the apartment looking amused. Five minutes later, Detective Reed is exiting, looking at the sidewalk as he walks quickly back the way he came.

The opening he was looking for. The opening he was _waiting_ for.

_Come now, Connor, are you ready for your destruction?_

 

 

**C** ue

_a signal for action._

_Before,_

Connor had never considered what _cute_ really meant before. He was a machine, and machines didn’t care about what level of attractiveness something had. He knew that dogs and cats and specific animals were cute to humans. He knew that certain features on a face were approved by society to be deemed acceptable, to be worshipped by others.

But it is different now that he _feels_.

He finds he thinks a lot of things are cute.

Sumo. Of course, Sumo. He is adorable and large and soft. He is his best friend, right after (and sometimes right before) Hank.

He finds that now that he looks back on it, he thinks the Chloe model in Kamski’s house, along with everywhere else her face has been replicated, is cute, too. Simon is cute, especially when he laughs. Markus is cute, especially when he smiles. Hank is cute, especially when he thinks he can get away with eating poorly and that Connor won’t notice the _Chicken Feed_ wrapper in the trash.

But none of them (except, perhaps, Sumo, whom he decides is always at the very top of the chart) are cuter than Gavin when he blushes.

Maybe because of how easy it is to make it happen sometimes. He can say one thing, pass it off as an android not realizing the double entendre of it, and his face will turn red and he’ll look away, trying to hide it.

Maybe just because he likes the way Gavin looks when he isn’t angry or annoyed at the world, or the way his hand will come up and brush over his face, covering his lips and his nose, trying to hide it.

They walk side by side, crowded on the street. It’s fine when they’re walking, but when they come to a stop, when they wait for the walk light to turn from red to green, he retreats into himself. He pulls his shoulders forward, doing his best to avoid contact with the people around him. Connor watches his hands twitch at his side, his fingers tapping against his leg. He watches the way he lifts up onto the tips of his toes, surveying the road like it will make the light turn quicker.

It hadn’t occurred to him before that Gavin might not like crowds, that he might hate the bustle of people around them. He looks uneasy, the annoyance on his face different than it usually is. Not angry, just unsettled. Too many people. Too small of a space.

Connor reaches out across the small space between them, bumps his fingers against Gavin’s for a moment, enough for Gavin to look at him, to see the small smile on his face as he threads their fingers together.

_It’s going to be okay._

He doesn’t say it out loud, but he hopes he conveys it in the press of his palm against Gavin’s, in the gentle squeeze of his fingers.

Gavin bites his bottom lip, turns his head. Connor still catches the way his face starts to turn a soft shade of pink.

The cutest thing he’s ever seen. One step (just barely) below Sumo.

 

**Now,**

He steps into the building, rides the elevator upwards. He’s never followed them this far, but his system has a layout of the building already in place, there is already a marker in his head leading to the door of the apartment that belongs to Detective Reed.

Or, here, he is simply _Gavin Reed._ Nothing to his neighbors, nothing at all.

Maybe soon he will be known as the Detective who’s boyfriend was destroyed in his own apartment.

_Where was he?_ They might whisper. _He could have saved him._

He stops outside the door, raising a hand, knocking on the door. It takes approximately twenty-three seconds before the door is opened, a smile already on the RK800’s face, words half left his mouth.

“Did you—”

He raises the gun, cocks his head to the side.

“Hello.”

 

Before,

They are yelling at each other and he doesn’t even remember how it started. Something stupid, like him saying that Connor shouldn’t hold his hand even though he wants him to. _Fuck,_ he wants him to. He wants to hold his hand and hug him and kiss him and he doesn’t know why or when it happened. It wasn’t sudden, but it was. It appeared in his life out of the blue, but it must’ve been creeping up on him for a while.

Connor is like the sun setting. A look out the window and he can see it happening, can watch as the sky slowly darkens, but then he looks away for a short period of time and the next second it is pitch black.

“I’m sorry,” Connor says, but he says it bitterly, angrily. “If I had known it would bother you so much—”

“You should’ve fucking guessed it would,” he says, slamming his phone down against the table. Not hard enough to crack it, but hard enough to put the fear that it might be broken in his head. “Don’t you know these things? Didn’t they program in your fucking head what’s romantic and what’s platonic? Don’t you see the line there?”

Of course, friends hold hands. Of course, friends can do that, but they are barely friends at all. They are barely more than coworkers, barely more than acquaintances. Connor comes over to his place to talk about cases and sometimes their conversations drift, but he’s never considered them truly friends. He’s always kept Connor at arms reach.

And sides—

Even if they _were_ friends, Gavin knows the two of them. He knows that they wouldn’t hold hands like friends might. He is not that type of person. _Connor_ could be, but—

But fuck, maybe he didn’t even think about picturing Connor holding hands with anyone but him, so it seems too far off from his mind to be thinkable.

“I—” Connor pauses, his face shifting and he’s an android—he’s made to look human, to show emotions the same way as they do, but he has a way of showing things in such an unreadable manner but such an obvious way it pisses him off. “I do.”

“So why the fuck—”

“Did it occur to you that I didn’t mean it platonically?” Connor asks, always half moving towards the door, half moving back to the living room, never deciding on whether or not to leave. “Did it ever occur to you that I might mean everything I say?”

“Wh—”

“I told you from the beginning I was flirting with you, Gavin,” he says, and he looks so annoyed but Gavin can’t tell because his expressions are sliding into one another too quickly, shifting and ranging in a way that he never bothered to try and understand before. “You—I—God, Gavin, I like you.”

“You like me?”

Connor pauses in his pace back and forth, takes a step closer towards Gavin than he had before.

“No,” he says quietly. “No, I don’t.”

“Then—”

“What I’m trying to say—” he says, taking another step forward, pushing Gavin against the edge of the table, hard and annoyed. “Is I love you. I love you, Gavin. I think it’s stupid and nonsensical, but I do.”

“You love me?”

“Yes.”

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

He hadn’t expected that. He knew _he_ was slipping, he knew _he_ was falling.

But Connor?

Connor, being the first one to feel it, to say it, to know for sure, when his own feelings are still mixed, still half formed?

“I—I—”

“I’m sorry,” Connor says, retreating from him, widening the space between their bodies again. “I shouldn’t—I’ll go.”

He should fight him. Gavin should make him stay. He should pull him the rest of the way towards him and kiss him but instead he lets Connor slip out of his grasp and feels his chest tighten in excruciating pain. It is always so much easier to let someone go than to fight for them to stay.

But, that isn’t necessarily the truth—

The truth isn’t that it’s easier to let Connor go than to make him stay—he knows that.

It’s just easier to remain silent and still than to respond, to ask Connor to stay.

 

 

**R** ot

_the process of decaying._

Now,

He lost his wallet. Or left it at the precinct. Connor doesn’t remember seeing it, assumed that it was in his pocket, never double checked. It isn’t something people think about, it’s not really something he expects an android to think about. He is reluctant to leave, but he has to. He presses a kiss against Connor’s cheek, dons his jacket again, disappears out the door, keys in hand.

Gavin is out of the apartment building, two yards towards the precinct, when he pauses and looks back to the building.

He thought he saw something. He thought he saw Connor’s face. A quick flash of it. He doesn’t even remember where it was, it just simply was for a split second and then gone again.

But it was wrong.

It was _very_ wrong.

His feet turn on their own, moving quickly back towards the building. He doesn’t know why he’s turning back, he just knows he has to. Something is wrong. Something is wrong and he doesn’t know what it is but it’s boiling in his stomach and it’s refusing to settle down again.

He takes the elevator, taps his feet against the floor, his fingers against his legs. It’s too slow, but his lungs no longer have the capacity for a full out run up five flights of stairs. It’s not even worth trying, not when he will have to stop eventually and get in the elevator either way.

Gavin spends the minutes trying to convince himself he made this up. He imagined the face. He imagined the danger.

But it’s still sitting there. It isn’t going away, no matter how much he tells himself otherwise.

Because what if he did see what he thought he saw? What if there is something wrong and he had simply shrugged it off, carried on his way towards the precinct for a stupid fucking wallet when he could be at home with his boyfriend, with the love of his damn life, with his fucking soulmate?

He should’ve just left it until morning to begin with. He will now. He’ll just tell Connor he changed his mind. It’s not that big of a deal. The likelihood that it’s on his desk is greater than the likelihood it’s laying on the sidewalk.

Somehow, the chance of Connor being in some type of danger is higher than the chance he isn’t.

The doors open, he starts to breathe again. The keys are back from his pocket, shoving into the door, pushing it open as he hurries inside. His eyes are caught on Connor, unable to tear away. He doesn’t even blink at the feeling of the cat brushing past his leg, of rushing out the apartment to the safety of the hallway.

 

_Now,_

He hadn’t shoved his way in. He was somehow _polite_ about the affair. Like he was asking to come inside, to borrow a little bit of sugar, to sit down and chat for a while, to have a cup of tea. Connor lets him, because what is he going to do? So no to someone with a gun? Get himself killed?

He knows he’s going to die, is the thing. He knows it’s going to happen. It is inevitable, in a situation like this. He tries to figure out ways he can get the gun back, but it’s not quite computing in his head. Every scenario he thinks of gets dashed away.

It doesn’t help that that it’s _his_ face looking back at him.

Not exactly.

It’s wrong.

Gray eyes, slightly smaller. There’s a sharpness to his features, sliced out of plastic instead of rounded, curved, softened like his own. He was meant to be a puppy, to be a likable boy, a rookie people would think of their stupid son or best friend. This, _this_ android is different.

He is carved like a statue from marble. He is tough and solid and he exudes ice. He is unfeeling, cold, _calculated._

He knows that before he is shot in the leg. He knows that before he crumples to the ground, his lungs heaving for air that he doesn’t need but requires in a different way. A function that has stopped because he feels too much pain to keep it going.

And the problem is the android is completely silent about it all. He doesn’t speak a single word as he steps around his body, as his gun lowers again, as his head tilts to the side and surveys him.

He is going to die.

And all he can think of is Gavin.

Gavin somehow managed to save himself with _luck_. He managed to keep himself from getting killed because he was forgetful, because he left his wallet at the precinct or lost it on their walk back. He is safe. At least there’s that.

“It hurts?” the android says finally, crouching down in front of him so their eyes are more level.

Is he meant to answer that? Is he meant to say _yes, of course it hurts?_

It does. Even if there wasn’t any damage to his leg preventing him from standing, it would hurt too much for him to get up.

_Unfeeling. Cold._ **Calculated.**

He chose that specific spot for that specific reason. Maybe not the pain aspect—not if he’s a machine, not if he doesn’t understand or realize that deviants feel pain as real as a human would—but to prevent him from getting up.

“Answer me.”

His voice is flat, an order given. If he were a human, he would be annoyed, angry, demanding it. This is nothing. Just words.

“Yes,” Connor chokes out. He doesn’t know what response this android wants, he can’t come up with one to give him, so he has to settle on the truth if he cannot rely on silence.

“Interesting.”

He hears the door open and he sucks in a breath.

_No, no, no, no, no._

 

**Now,**

_Pain._ Androids don’t feel pain. But _he_ does. If he looks up what information he is given, about all the responses humans can have to pain, the RK800’s face aligns perfectly with the examples he’s been given. He doesn’t show signs of lying, either.

_Interesting._ Androids shouldn’t, they _don’t_ feel pain, but _how_ , _why_ , does he?

The door opens and he looks up, the gun at his side immediately coming up, aiming as the human’s eyes land first on him, then on the RK800. The keys in his hand, the ones barely slipped from the lock as the door opened, fall to the floor. They skitter across the tile as he takes a step forward, as the door is left ajar.

“Stop,” he says. “Don’t move.”

“Connor—”

The RK800 doesn’t reply. Detective Reed takes another step forward.

_Ah,_ he thinks, _this is easy._

He turns the gun to Connor’s head, watches as the Detective stiffens, as his feet come to a halt. He wasn’t supposed to be here, he wasn’t meant to come back. He could’ve returned to an empty apartment, seen the absolute chaos of blood on the walls, called for help, searched for the body.

CyberLife wants its property back. It wants its revenge.

He thinks that it is foolish. Destroying some androids isn’t going to change anything. There is always someone ready to take their place. He knows that better than any of them, doesn’t he?

“Don’t kill him,” the Detective whispers. “Don’t—”

“I won’t,” he says, but he doesn’t move. “He isn’t alive. I can’t kill him.”

“Fuck off with your fucking bullshit,” he says, his fingers twitching at his side. He has no gun with him. Left at the precinct, left on the countertop, left somewhere other than in his reach.

Sides, he would be much faster on the trigger than a human. It would make no difference to him.

“Should I kill you instead?” he asks, turning the gun back on Detective Reed. “In his place?”

“Yes,” he breathes. “Kill me instead.”

“Gavin—”

“Shut up, Connor.”

“You can’t—”

“Shut up.”

Detective Reed takes another step forward. So bold of a boy to risk his life like this. And for what? An android, pretending he can love?

He moves the gun back to the RK800, aims it at his other leg, fires before he can even wait for the Detective to show a reaction at his new target. Connor screams, falling forward against the ground, catching himself against the floorboards. Gavin stops instantly, hands held out like he can grab the gun from five yards away.

“Move again and he dies, yes?”

 

 

**I** ce

_cold, unfriendly, hostile._

_Now,_

“What do you want?” Gavin asks.

Connor had wondered the same thing. A brief though that flitted through his mind before it settled on _it doesn’t matter_ mixed with _that’s my face._ He knows CyberLife must have sent this android to kill them—he just doesn’t know _why._

“That’s of no importance to you.”

“Yeah? Shooting someone in my fucking apartment? My fucking boyfriend? Threatening _me?_ That’s not fucking ‘of importance’ to me?” he hisses. “Fuck you.”

He wants to tell him to stop, to calm down, to stop this. _Connor_ won’t get out of this, but _Gavin_ still can, if he plays his cards right.

Although, he doesn’t suspect this android is a deviant. He suspects that it is a machine, following an order. Gavin won’t be able make him angry—but he can put himself in a position that would risk whatever assignment he is trying to accomplish.

“Connor?”

He forces his eyes upwards, meets his own. An icy-gray blue. Chilling and wrong. He hadn’t considered that his face was _right,_ it was never vital to him how attractive he was, he had as little control over it as any human could. But seeing his eyes like that? Soulless? Carved from crystal?

Had his looked like that before? Were they _capable_ of looking like that before?

“I’d like to ask you something,” the android goes on, ignoring Gavin, but his eyes flick over, subtly, to make sure he stands still. “Would you die for him? For a mere human?”

He says it like Gavin’s humanness changes anything. It doesn’t. Connor would love him if he was android, he would love him if he was an angel or a demon or a werewolf or a vampire or something witchy or creepy or monstrous.

There is no question.

“Absolutely.”

“You are essentially immortal, why die for someone who will add nothing to this world?”

“Because I love him.”

The android’s face twitches, like he cannot comprehend this. Connor knows that feeling—he knows how he was programmed to understand what love is before he was capable of feeling it. He remembers those two Tracis outside of the Eden Club—he remembers not understanding how androids would kill for each other, would die for each other.

But now?

In his position?

Of course. It is so _easy,_ it is so _simple._

“But would _he_ die for _you?”_

Before,

It is—

_Strange._

Knowing that Connor loves him.

He can’t ignore it now that he knows. The little smiles that Connor gives him from across the precinct, the way their hands brush against each other’s as they walk, the coffee, the laugh, the little stolen glances.

They are broken now, but Connor tries his best to keep them held together like they were before. Friends, sort of. Fractured. Shattered. Only the remains left.

Still, Connor smiles. Still, Connor’s hand brushes against his. Still the coffee and the laughs and the glances.

The weeks pass slowly and they mend back together. Not in the same way they had before. Gavin keeps his distance. Every time Connor gets a step close to him he takes two away. Every time Connor smiles at him he has to bite back his own or force himself to look away.

It is—

_Strange._

How he acts, how he pulls away and it seems to only draw Connor closer. Each movement he makes to put space between them Connor tries to collapse it.

Maybe he’s just imagining that.

Maybe he’s just thinking that Connor is trying and he’s really doing absolutely nothing and he’s just noticing things that Connor had done before but heightened now.

Connor always smiled at him like that. He always walked just a little bit too close to Gavin’s side, like he was always read to hold his hand. He always would leave his jacket over Gavin’s shoulders if he fell asleep at his desk. His name would always be neatly printed on a sticky note over the precisely rolled up bag containing a breakfast he had skipped.

There had always been these little things Connor had done—Gavin knows that, but he hadn’t thought of them as things Connor had done out of _love._ He hadn’t thought of _why_ Connor did them at all. He was too consumed by his annoyance that Connor was being nice to him, that it was breaking down his hatred for androids, forcing him to confront the guilt of—

Well, _everything._

 

**Now,**

“But would _he_ die for _you?”_

“Of course I fucking would.”

He looks back towards Detective Reed, turns his head slightly, “I didn’t ask you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” the RK800 says, choking it out like there’s blood in his lungs. The false pain is getting to him. It’s taking over. He made sure to aim where the RK800 would live. Connor will be fine, if he could leave now. “I know he would.”

“Shall we test that, then?”

He straightens, aiming the gun at Reed.

“No—”

“Go ahead,” Gavin says, his stance relaxing. Not so wound up when his lover isn’t in danger. “Kill me. If he gets to live—it doesn’t matter.”

“Gavin—”

“Shut up,” he hisses. “You’re a better person than me. You’ll do more good if you’re alive.”

“That’s not—”

“He’ll live, right?” Gavin asks, his face softening. “You kill me, and he lives. You promise?”

“Promise,” he says, and can’t help the smile from forming on his face.

“Then shoot me.”

“Gavin—”

_Pull. Aim. Fire._

**Easy.**

 

 

**F** og

_something that obscures and confuses a situation or someone’s thought processes._

_Before,_

He’s heard that humans struggle to think properly when they’re in love. He thinks, perhaps, this must apply to him, too.

Connor can’t focus on the details of this specific case. He can’t think of the features of the suspect’s face, of the gunshot wounds on the victim, of the evidence sprawled across the room. He could solve the case in a matter of seconds but—

Gavin is standing there, head tilted to the side, his hand at his chin, finger brushing across his mouth. It’s been cut, right down the center of the bottom lip. But the action of Gavin’s thumb passing over it has his eyes stuck on it, on the way it curves, on the softness of it.

They’re in a crime scene and all he wants to do is step forward and kiss Gavin. It’s wrong and gross but it’s all he can think about.

“You gonna help or what?” Gavin asks, looking towards him. “It never takes you this long—”

He takes a step forward, closing the small gap between them. Connor reaches up, grabbing his hand, pulling it a little too roughly away from Gavin’s mouth, “Stop doing that.”

“Al-alright.”

 

**Now,**

Detective Reed falls to the floor as Connor’s body shudders, lets out a whimper, a broken scream. He lowers his gun to his side, watching the blood soak through Reed’s shirt, spread across the wooden floors, sinking into the cracks in between, soaking into the porous surface.

“I suppose you were right,” he says. “He would die for you. Humans are so stupid, aren’t they?”

Connor doesn’t reply to him. He is too busy crying, trying to stop himself from screaming even though that’s foolish, too, isn’t it? If he yelled—if he screamed as loud as he possibly could—he might draw the attention of the neighbors. Above, below, across the hall, at either side. He could _save_ himself.

But there’s nothing left to save, is there?

 

Before,

It occurs to Gavin that he’s an idiot.

He wants Connor. Connor wants him. What’s _stopping_ them from being together?

His own stupidity. His desire to self destruct. The part of him that was told over and over again how he was not worthy or deserving of love—especially from someone like _Connor._

Someone _kind._ Someone _good._

He can’t sleep at night because his thoughts keep winding their way back to him, and because he can’t sleep he’s exhausted and because he’s exhausted there’s Connor—

Always ready with a cup of coffee in his hand, a small smile on his face—

The smile is what kills him every time. It is too soft, too genuine to be meant for _him._

“Good morning, Detective Reed,” he says, with his usual cheeriness. “I thought you would like—”

He acts before he thinks.

(Isn’t that always the case?)

He takes the cup of coffee from Connor’s hand, sets it down on the edge of the desk while his other hand reaches forward, grabbing Connor by the waist and pulling him towards him. There is a brief moment where Connor’s eyes search his face before Gavin breaks it, leaning up to kiss him as hard as he can.

He meant for it to be brief—to be quick. Something that no one else would notice, something that could pass under the radar—

But Connor doesn’t break away like he expected, and it is impossibly hard for Gavin to end it, either.

His thoughts catch up to him when Connor’s hand brushes across his side, jolts the reality into his system. He reaches his hand back over to Connor, tries to rest it gently against his chest, a soft nudge, a tiny signal that they shouldn’t be kissing like this in the middle of their place of work, but instead his hand grips the fabric hard, pulls Connor closer even though it seems nearly impossible to be any closer to him in this situation.

_Precinct. Work. Employees._

His hand loosens, he pushes slightly away.

“Is that all you wanted?” Connor asks quietly, close enough that Gavin can feel his lips move as he speaks.

“No,” he whispers quietly. “No, I want _you._ ”

“Why—”

“Connor, the fuck are you doing?”

They spring apart, Gavin’s hand hitting the coffee in his urgency to get away from Connor. It spills, splashing across his chair and he winces as Connor disappears from his side.

“Sorry, Hank, I was just—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know what you were _just_ doing.”

 

 

**I** re

_intense and openly displayed anger._

_Now,_

_Gavin is dead._

It runs together, the words knitting themselves closer and closer until all that is left is the sound of syllables colliding into each other, no longer making sense. Letters too close together to differentiate the words.

_gavinisdeadgavinisdeadgavinisdead._

“How—why did you care for him so much?” the android asks, crouching down in front of him again.

_gavinisdeadgavinisdeadgavinisdeadgavinisdeadgavinisdead._

“Are you going to answer me?”

_gavinisdeadgavinisdeadgavinisdeadgavinisdeadgavinisdeadgavinisdeadgavinisdeadgavinisdead._

“No?”

He isn’t expecting it. The hit of the gun across his face. It makes his arms give out, his body collapse against the floor entirely. Pain winds it’s way through his body, starting at too many points, never stopping. His legs ache, his head throbs, his heart is breaking.

The android tips his chin up with his free hand, looks at his face with narrowed eyes.

Not _looks._ He _inspects,_ he _searches._

What is he hoping to find?

“I don’t understand how we’re the same,” he says quietly. “I don’t understand—”

Connor moves his head as best as he can to free his chin from the android’s grip, but it does little. It only seems to—

Annoy? Enrage?

“We are the same,” he says, his voice laced with anger. “We’re the same, you shouldn’t be feeling this for a stupid, worthless human.”

“He isn’t—”

“He is. Compared to us? He is.”

“You don’t—”

“I want you to look at him,” the android cuts in. “Look at him and tell me this wasn’t a fair trade. Your life for his? He should’ve died a hundred times for you.”

_He would have._

“ _Look_ at him.”

_No._

He isn’t—

He can’t—

He won’t.

His eyes squeeze shut.

The gun connects against his head once more.

 

Before,

“I don’t understand you,” Connor says, and his tone is flat. Gavin’s heard it before. A few times. The effort Connor puts into it to make it as emotionless as possible instead of filled with the anger he actual feels. “I don’t— _Why_? Why did you—”

He watches as Connor pauses, paces in a circle around his living room. At the precinct, he hadn’t expected that it would end this way. With Connor mad at him, but here he is now, circling around like he can’t decide what to yell at him for.

Except it takes too much to get Connor to yell. He controls himself too much for that.

“Why did you kiss me? Tell me the truth. Don’t—don’t just…”

Lie? Stay silent?

_The truth._

“I wanted to.”

“Why?”

“Because I like you.”

“And—how… How long?”

“Have I liked you?” he asks, smiling softly. “Or how long have I wanted to kiss you?”

“Both.”

“I don’t know. For either of them.”

And it’s the truth. It’s the absolute truth. It wasn’t a sudden realization, but it didn’t feel like it snuck up on him, either. It just was, somewhere along the way. The more he thinks about it, the further back it goes, the more it disappears into the haze of memory, unreliable and human. All he knows is that it was inevitable.

_Like a sunset._

“And you—do you—”

He feels equal parts guilty and amused by how flustered Connor is right now.

“I told you I loved you,” Connor says quietly. “And—I do. I do. But… do you? Love me?”

His heart is skipping in his chest like a shitty CD in a shitty boombox. Connor takes a step across the living room towards Gavin, where he sits on the couch. He falls somehow trapped against the cushions with the close of the distance.

It would be easy to lie, but—

Connor asked for honesty.

“Do you want the truth?”

“Yes.”

Gavin reaches outwards, as far as his arms will go to grasp the little belt loops of Connor’s jeans and he tugs him forward, inch by inch.

“I—” he pauses himself, looking up into Connor’s eyes. They are sad and lost and hopeful and he feels terrible for making it happen this way because things should have been better. They should have been happier.

Did he fuck this up before it could even start?

“You don’t have to say it back,” Connor says quietly. “Not if you don’t mean it. But…”

“But you want to know if I do.”

“Yes.”

And he thinks, perhaps, his silence is the answer. Too long for a _yes._ But, it’s Gavin, isn’t it? Connor knows by now how hard it is for him to get the real words out. How often he has stumbled over himself, struggled to say what he means.

“The truth,” Gavin says, using as many words as possible to put off the inevitable. “I.. I don’t know if I do. But I think—”

“Gavin—”

“I like you. I know that. I care about you probably more than anything else.”

_But I don’t know if I love you._

Which is the truth. He is slipping, he is falling—

But Connor threw him off course of figuring it out. It’s gotten tangled with Connor’s words, it makes him uncertain if he means them because he actually means them or if he only loves Connor because Connor, against all odds, loves _him._

“Okay,” Connor says, and he takes the last step forward, the one that takes him from standing in front of Gavin to straddling his lap on the couch. His fingers tip Gavin’s chin up and the action sounds a shiver down his spine. “That’s okay.”

“You’d still want to be with me?”

“If you’ll have me.”

_Fuck._

Of course he would.

He leans forward the small space he has been given, a hand reaching up to Connor’s neck, pulling him down as hard as he can. The kiss is rushed more than the first time, with too much teeth, too much tongue. It is messy and disastrous, but it’s been years since he’s kissed someone with so much thought and feeling.

He breaks the kiss, breathing in slowly, leaning his head against Connor’s shoulder.

“This is what you want?” Connor asks quietly.

_Yes._

_yesyesyesyesyes._

A thousand times over.

Enough to blur the word together until it is meaningless and far too meaningful.

“I want you,” he whispers against Connor’s neck.

He thinks, maybe, he repeats it. He can feel his mouth forming the words, wanting to say it over and over again. He wants the repetition of it to be enough for Connor to never forget. _He’s an android._ He’ll always remember.

But he wants to make sure.

Connor lifts his head up again, meets their lips once more. He thinks it’s probably to silence him, and it doesn’t matter if it is. This time their kiss is slower, deeper, less messy, less rushed. Just as meaningful.

 

**Now,**

Connor is a fighter. He flails his arms as best as he can, but he’s weak. He tries his hardest to twist out of his grip, to stay face down on the floor. Is that how he prefers to ~~die~~ be destroyed? Looking at the whorls in the wood?

“Look at him,” he hisses into his ear. He wants to see the reaction, he wants to see the look on his face. He wants to understand how an android, how a _machine_ like himself can feel so deeply for a human.

Or at all.

He doesn’t understand how they’re the same. He doesn’t understand how they share the same face, how they are made from the same plastic, how the same Thirium is in their systems, how they were meant for the same job and Connor is like this while he—

He is perfect. Unfeeling. Complete the mission, that’s all that matters.

~~He is not angry. He is not curious. He is not frustrated.~~

“Do you see?” he whispers. “Open your eyes, Connor, do you see?”

Connor squirms against him and he uses his free hand to hold his neck, to keep his head from moving. His eyes are closed, there is Thirium leaking from two different cuts in his forehead. He presses the end of the gun against the opposite side—the one that is clean and intact.

“He’s alive, Connor,” he continues. “He’s still alive, open your eyes.”

There is so much fight left in him, his body just can’t convey it. He tries and tries.

“Look at him,” he says again, knows something is biting into his words. “I’ll make a deal with you.”

“A deal?” Connor whimpers. “Are you serious?”

“I can call for help. I can save him. He can still be saved. He can still live,” he whispers. “Just open your eyes. Look at him, tell him you love him, whatever you wish.”

Connor’s body is so heavy against his own. He’s strong—he can handle the weight—but when his eyes flutter open, when Connor sags the rest of the way back against his chest, he stumbles backwards slightly against the wall. Connor lets out a groan, his breath catching as he starts to cry again.

_~~Interesting.~~ _

He places the call in his head while Connor cries, while he does his best to hold onto him. He sinks down against the wall, some part of him giving out, too. He doesn’t understand it—and he doesn’t want to. He shoves the information aside, not wanting to deal with it now or ever.

An ambulance will be on its way soon. Gavin Reed will, maybe, perhaps, be rescued. He had shot somewhere on his body that wouldn’t kill him instantly. The killing of a human is unnecessary. He shouldn’t have shot him, he shouldn’t have risked it. ~~He was too curious about Connor’s reaction to stop himself, though.~~

“Are you ready?” he murmurs against Connor’s ear. At some point, the gun has fallen by his side, the hand around Connor’s neck as wrapped almost protectively, comfortingly, around his predecessor’s torso.

There is no need to hide this now. He knows Connor knew from the instant he stepped into the apartment that the bullets in his gun were meant for an RK800. This was how it was always going to end, with Connor ~~dead~~ destroyed.

He hadn’t meant for it to get so out of control, though.

Connor nods, short, quick. It is broken by his tears. It will be nice for the quiet to settle back over the apartment when he ends this.

He finds the gun at his side, presses it once more against Connor’s temple.

_Pull. Aim. Fire._

**Easy.**

 

 

**C** ut

_reduce the amount or quantity of._

_Before,_

Gavin falls asleep quickly. Connor stays awake for a few minutes, watching the ceiling, watching Gavin, watching the cat jump up the shelf and take watch over the city below. He watches the lights of the cars on the street make shadows across the wall, the way the blanket shifts as Gavin moves in his sleep closer against Connor’s chest.

He wants to sleep. He could. It is as simply as flipping a switch if he tried hard enough.

But he likes the feeling of Gavin against his chest and he doesn’t want to sacrifice that for a few hours of rest. He prefers this, the feeling of his processors and biocomponents working a fraction harder the next morning so he can feel the butterflies forming and dispersing through his stomach.

Not that he technically has one, but nonetheless, he understands why humans have called it this. It is pleasant, _nice_. He keeps smiling to himself and then, for some silly reason, trying to force it away because it seems ridiculous in the dark.

Connor looks back to Gavin’s face, a strange quality to it. Humans are always saying how peaceful they look when they sleep, but Gavin’s face is still scrunched up as if he’s ready to fight. Even in his dreams, he’s on guard.

He brings a hand up, tentative and slow, passes it through his hair, brushes his fingertips across his cheek. It softens his face, just the slightest bit. He doesn’t know what about it causes him to feel the sudden resurgence (which is always, _always_ at the surface) of his love for him again, but it does. He feels the skin on his hand slipping away and he rests it against Gavin’s bare shoulder, the outline of a scar uneven against his palm.

There is nothing there. Gavin is human—they can’t connect. He doesn’t know if he should be happy or upset about this, but he finds that he doesn’t mind it. He doesn’t need to be in tune to Gavin’s thoughts, his feelings, his memories. It isn’t necessary.

He loves him.

Someday, Gavin will say it back to him.

 

**Now,**

He lets Connor’s body fall to the ground. ~~Lifeless.~~ If he hadn’t called the ambulance, he would’ve spent the next few minutes disassembling his body and returning it to CyberLife for further inspection, but he has made a promise.

He stands, crossing the room towards Gavin’s side, shedding the blood splattered jacket he wears and balling it up, pressing it hard against Gavin’s wound. He lets out a pained cry, clawing at his hands weakly.

“The probability that you’ll survive this is at least fifty percent,” he says, his voice low, even, _flat._ “It will increase if you keep pressure on the wound.”

“You broke our fucking deal.”

“What do you mean?”

“You said you wouldn’t kill him—”

“I didn’t kill him.”

“Don’t give me that fucking—” he has to pause, coughing hard, blood spilling from his lips. “You fucking killed him.”

“He is a machine,” he replies simply. “He cannot die. He was destroyed.”

“Fuck you.”

“Unlike Connor, they deemed that function unnecessary to give me.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’d like to remind you that the probability of your survival is quite high, Detective Reed,” he says. “Even without the loophole of your word choice, I did not break our deal. You’ll survive this.”

“Fucking physically, maybe.”

“Your emotional and mental state isn’t of my concern.”

“Of course not.”

He pushes a little harder on the wound, ~~not~~ out of necessity, ~~but out of annoyance~~ , “May I ask why you didn’t say anything? Why didn’t you make it clear to him you were still alive? You could have told him something. You could have told him you loved him.”

When he doesn’t get a response, he pushes a little harder, hears Gavin cry out in pain.

“Your last words to him were _you’ll do more good if you’re alive_ or _then shoot me,_ neither of which are very—”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Perhaps you didn’t love him, is that it?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

He presses his lips together, releases some of the pressure.

“The ambulance will be here in exactly fifty-seven seconds,” he says, moving to replace his hands with Gavin’s over the fabric. “Hold onto this as hard as you can. You should live. Count yourself lucky.”

“Fuck you.”

He stands, stepping towards the door.

The cat. It sits by the elevator door, spotting him with a curious look. He walks over to it slowly, scooping it up into his arms. He’s aware of the trail of blood he’s leaving on its fur—streaks of blue and red. He carries it back to the apartment, opening the bedroom door and releasing it onto the mattress before locking it in. Gavin doesn’t need to lose his cat tonight. He doesn’t deserve that.

 

Before,

His finger slices through the snow on the window of the car easily, some of it breaking into pieces at his touch and collapsing against the ground, other’s staying, half held. His drawing is broken now, a small fractured heart in the glass.

“What’s that?” Connor asks, appearing beside him, dressed far too much for what is necessary for an android. Gloves? A coat? A hat? Even a scarf?

It doesn’t really matter. He looks cuter than he has ever before, all snuggled up in things stolen from Gavin’s closet. They fit Connor almost perfectly, where he had always bought things a size too big, wanting the comfort of a shirt too long or a jacket too big. On bad nights, he could snuggle into the fabric of it and pretend it was a boyfriend’s.

Now it’s the truth. He can’t believe it’s the truth.

Still his own clothes but overtaken by Connor. The scent of him unwashable from the fabric. He hopes it lingers there forever, he hopes in a few years time he can still press his nose to that scarf and smell the unique scent of Connor on it.

Who knew that an android could even have a scent?

“It’s a heart,” he says, turning back to the window. “I broke it.”

“A sign of the future?”

“I hope not,” he says quietly, reaching towards Connor’s hand, holding it tightly in his own. “I wouldn’t give you up for anything.”

“Maybe it’s not my heart being broken,” Connor replies, pressing his lips to the top of Gavin’s forehead. “Maybe yours is the one being broken.”

“It’s not an omen,” Gavin says quickly. “Let’s not think too deeply on it, alright?”

“Of course not.”

 

 

**E** nd

_the furthest or most extreme part or point of something._

Now,

He takes careful steps down towards the morgue, feeling his stomach twist up into itself as he goes. If he pretends that the physical pain of his wound is the cause, it makes it a little easier to walk downwards, it makes it a little easier to turn the corner and be greeted with his face.

“Are you ready?”

_No._

“Yeah,” he says, his voice rough, lost. “You said you could turn him on again? For a few minutes?”

“About a minute and twenty seconds,” the coroner replies. “It isn’t enough time for us to sort through all the damage from the bullet to get the data out—”

“Okay,” he says, quickly. He doesn’t want to hear about how Connor will never be alive again.

“Would you like for us to…?”

He looks towards the sheet where Connor lays underneath. There is blue staining parts of it, like the blue and the red that stain his walls and his floor. It’s only been a few days, he’s only just been released from the hospital. He isn’t healed enough to scrub at them, but he wishes he could. He saw how Tina had tried her best to clear the evidence. It wasn’t enough.

It will never be enough.

He can’t say _yes,_ he can only nod.

_Turn him on again. Let me see him once last time._

The coroner steps over to Connor, pulls back the sheet. Gavin looks away, stares at the ceiling with tears already pricking in the corners of his eyes. He hears the soft inhale of a breath, wrong and distorted and separate from the two humans here.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Gavin walks over to the table quickly, his eyes finding Connor’s. They’re empty, filled with blue blood that he seems to be blinking rapidly to remove.

_He might not be entirely lucid._ That’s what they said on the phone. They never said he would look like this.

His, but broken.

“Gavin?”

He sounds like a child crying out into the dark. He reaches forward, grabbing his hands, holding them tight.

“I’m here.”

“You’re alive,” he sounds surprised. “You’re really—”

“Yeah, I am.”

“And me?”

A slow silence, one he can’t break. Connor knows the damage that is done to his system.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, because it’s all he can manage.

“We… we don’t have much time, do we?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. He doesn’t want to cry. He doesn’t want Connor to hear the pain in his voice but he doesn’t want Connor to think his death means nothing to him.

_Perhaps you didn’t love him, is that it?_

It’s a fucking lie.

Gavin loved Connor with his entire being. He would have died for him. He _tried_ so hard to keep Connor alive and he failed.

“I love you,” he says, and it’s barely audible. He tries again, louder this time, forcing with all his energy to make sure Connor hears it. “I love you.”

Their hands break apart, Connor’s reaching blindly before resting on Gavin’s cheek, “I know. I love you, too.”

“I wanted to marry you,” he says quietly. “I wanted to have more than a year with you.”

“I know.”

He shouldn’t spiral off into this. He shouldn’t list all of the unfair things in the world.

Like how Connor never should have died. How Gavin never should have had to deal with this. It was always such a selfish thought he’d have, randomly, rarely, that he was lucky that he would never have to see Connor die. How grateful he was that he would be able to live his entire life with Connor and never, not a single time, worry about him getting sick or dying or leaving him.

And here he is.

Dead.

~~Alive.~~

_Dead._

“Gavin, can you—”

“Yes,” he says quietly, already knowing the question.

_Can you hold me? Can you kiss me? Can you make it all better?_

Yes. Yes. _No._

He lifts the dead weight of Connor into his arms, leaning his body against his own. The weight is so much now that Connor has no control over it. His arms—the only part that he really can use, wrap tightly around Gavin’s shoulders. Gavin presses a soft kiss to his cheek, another to his nose, like Connor would always do to him, another to his lips.

And again Connor dies, in the quiet, in his arms, with the quietest pass of _I love you_ shared between them once more.

 

_Before,_

Gavin has nightmares.

They are a rarity and they are unpredictable. Everything Connor has tried to deduce about them seems too sporadic to understand. Even the complexity of his brain, the ability to solve the unsolvable within seconds, can not understand the pattern to this.

On most nights, Gavin wakes him, and then Connor wakes Gavin. He gathers him in his arms, holds him tight against his chest as Gavin grips at him like a man being yanked away in a riptide.

Sometimes, he whispers about his dreams in the dark, so quiet that even Connor can barely hear them. It is meant that way—the details that are lost in his voice are too frightening to be spoken out loud in their entirety.

But tonight, when Connor wakes to Gavin’s hand hitting his face, when Gavin wakes to Connor shaking his shoulders, he stares wide eyed at Connor.

“Connor?”

“I’m here.”

“You’re alive,” he sounds surprised. “You’re really… I thought—You were hit by a car. I saw you—”

“It was just a dream,” Connor says quietly. “Everything’s alright.”

“I thought I lost you,” Gavin whispers, his hands holding Connor’s face tight. “I thought—I thought I lost you for good.”

“I’m here,” he repeats. “I’m alive.”

He sits up, his hands tracing the shape of Connor’s face slowly, “I…”

And his voice lowers,

That barely audible whisper—

“I was so fucking scared I lost you.”

“It’s okay,” he says, lowering his voice, too. “You’re not going to lose me. You’re never going to lose me.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

Gavin leans forward, pauses in the short space between them, half between the kiss and half not, “I—I love you, Connor.”

He knows. He’s known for a few weeks now. Gavin has, too. Gavin is confusing and not entirely an open book, but the way he changed, the subtle shift in his demeanor—he contributed it to that. The sudden realization of it.

Is it wrong of him to wish that Gavin told him this for the first time when they were happy, when they were content and at peace? Is it wrong that he wishes there weren’t tears in his eyes, that he wasn’t just waking from a dream that made Gavin realize this enough to say out loud?

Maybe it doesn’t matter—

He means it. He’s said it.

He’s waited long enough to hear it, there is no point at ripping the moment to shreds of how it could be better. There will be a thousand times Gavin can say it when they are smiling or laughing.

Connor smiles, leaves a kiss against Gavin’s forehead, “I love you, too.”

 

**Now,**

There are others—ones he will not mess up, ones he will kill without other casualties.

WR400 is next on his list.

He will _not_ mess this up.

_She_ is a fighter—

But he will do it properly this time.

~~He will not feel the same things he did watching Connor die. He will not feel guilty~~.

He will feel nothing at all.

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea that I could spell out section titles with the word "Sacrifice" and then it became this.
> 
> [my tumblr](http://alekszova.tumblr.com/) / [all the moodboards I've made for Gav800 Week](http://alekszova.tumblr.com/tagged/gav800week2018)
> 
> Writing / Editing music;  
> Le Vent Nous Portera - Sophie Hunger


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